Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 32 - We found each other again

               I make my entrance into the Great Sept of Baelor. This building, over a century old, was constructed, as its name suggests, by Baelor the Blessed. He was the most pious king Westeros had ever known. Placing religion before all else, he went so far as to forget his obligations to the people. And here we are, the descendants of the lords who kissed his feet. We are in the service of a Lannister king, and all the Targaryens are dead. The world has changed indeed.

               Lord Varys, a few paces behind me, catches me marvelling at this architectural masterpiece. He makes his presence known only by a low laugh in which I perceive no mockery. On the contrary, I imagine him quite inclined to lose himself before works of art.

"Magnificent, isn't it?"

"A beautiful setting for such a sad day."

               Like two great confidants, we begin to pace the room in unison.

"You know..." I begin. "I sometimes find myself wondering what my father would have done in this situation."

"And what would he have done?"

"Absolutely nothing."

               We stop at the top of the stairs leading to the altar. From here, we have a bird's-eye view of all the guests.

"When Cersei demanded the execution of Sansa's wolf, he killed it himself. He said the beast deserved a just death because it came from the North. Regardless, it rots beneath the earth now."

"Your father was of an unshakeable loyalty."

"But you see, every time I ask myself that question, I am quickly caught up by an undeniable truth: my father is dead. I am not. My choices are my own."

"I strongly advise against attempting any kind of rebellion today, my lady. You would risk losing it."

               I am not foolish enough to trigger a fight in the middle of a sept. I may not believe in this Seven-Faced God, but I prefer to avoid the wrath of the people who love him so much. And, evidently, I cannot fight while pregnant.

               As I prepare to bring up the subject of the young Targaryen east of the Narrow Sea, my husband's blonde head appears at the bottom of the stairs. With his golden crown, he looks very elegant. It must be admitted that Joffrey has taste when it comes to fashion.

"Ma'am," he says in a reprimanding tone. "You cannot be here."

"Lord Varys."

               The Spider bows his head slightly to each of us before walking away. With the brightest smile I can muster, I join Joffrey and take his arm. This day is already difficult enough to endure; I refuse to let him make things worse.

"Do not get upset," I tell him before planting a kiss on his cheek. "It is a day of celebration, isn't it?"

"You are right. It is a great day for your sister, as well as for my uncle."

"I would actually like to ask you a favour."

"I am listening."

               He stands ready. Joffrey loves to be begged.

"Well..." I begin, suddenly nervous.

"I would like to lead my sister to the altar."

"Out of the question," he cuts me off flatly. "Your father is dead. Sansa belongs to the Crown. It is for me to lead her."

               Hardly surprised by his reaction, I do my best not to get angry. If I raise my voice, it won't just be my day turning sour, but that of all the guests. Sansa's perhaps more than anyone else's, because Joffrey won't hesitate to take his revenge out on her—he has already done it.